Human Touch
by Kaie
Summary: Can Hermione and Snape rebuild after the fall of Voldemort?
1. Chapter 1

Author: Kaie  
Title: Promises  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the following characters. I'm just a poor college student with an overactive imagination. No money was made, so please don't sue.

Author's Note: I'm new to the HP fandom and this is my first fic attempted here, so I'm a bit nervous if I can accurately portray the characters. So any and all feedback would be really appreciated!

**Promises: Chapter 1**

He stared at the huddled mass in the middle of the stone floor and, for the first time in his life, was thankful he could hide behind his mask. If had been anyone other than the brunette in front of him, he would have been fine. But this wasn't anyone, this was Hermione Granger. She lay gasping for air in the circle of Death Eaters, her fourth visit since her capture last week. Each time he saw her, she looked less and less like the girl he knew. He wondered how the Gryffindor know-it-all had managed to give herself over to the Dark Lord. Merlin knew that she was smarter than that. He remembered the too familiar burn on his arm, the eternal summons to His presence. Then, there she was, bruised and smiling. Something smug about her presence that no one could quite put their finger on.

Then, to be fair, no one had ever quite discovered Miss Granger.

Voldemort's hiss echoed in the silence of the old building, his reptilian lips curved into his approximation of a smile. "Tell me what I want to know Mudblood and we'll end this little game of yours."

Hermione lifted her head to stare her tormentor in the face, "It never ends. And my name is _Hermione_."

Voldemort's face twisted in displeasure, "_Crucio_."

Her body jerked upright as the curse hit her. He could see the blood streaming from her nose and down her chin, dripping into her clothes. He knew from experience that all the Dark Lord wanted was a scream. He wanted her to beg, to plead for the remaining shreds of her sanity and her life. Of course, he would never dream of granting her wishes, he just wanted to break her.

He for one, hoped to god that she would break soon. She was going to go insane from her attempts to stay sane. And he couldn't do anything for her, he could just watch as they destroyed one of the most brilliant minds of the generation. She was going to go to pieces in front of him and he couldn't even offer her the basics of human comfort. He reminded himself that in reality, he really didn't want to help her. This was Potter's Golden Girl, the bane of his existence for seven years, he absolutely hated this girl. He hated her know it all ways and her eternal optimism. He hated her because she reminded him so much of himself at that age.

But, she wouldn't do it, she wouldn't break in front of him. She saved her defeat for the precious few moments that she had alone. Yesterday he watched her bash her head against the wall to get the voices out of her head. He had watched her skin redden and break as she attempted to find some semblance of control in her situation. She had knocked herself unconscious before anyone could realize that he was watching her. He stood watching her for a few more minutes, watching the bruises shape and form against her pale skin. Millions of little brain cells escaping from behind those sharp brown eyes. He just stood and watched, made sure she was still breathing and left. That was all he could do. That was his job here, protect Hermione. At least, that's what he'd been ordered to do. It didn't matter, he really couldn't help her anyway.

He thought back to the day she had received her assignment, nothing on her face had betrayed her. There was nothing, no additional input, no sparkle, just cold composed nothing. He expected her to come see him, ask him what it would be like, living with the Death Eaters and the constant torment. After all, that was what she did, she researched and over prepared. She exhausted every possible option and then she made her decisions. He couldn't think of a situation that she was ever unprepared for. Yet, she never came. One day she was there and the next the mark on his arm was inviting him to celebrate her capture. She had never once sought his guidance, probably because she didn't believe that he would give it to her. Sadly, she was probably right. He would have mocked her, the bookworm couldn't find an answer. So, he really couldn't be surprised that she didn't come to him.

He wasn't sure what Potter's plan was, they thought it best to keep that information from him, just in case. He wanted for know why she was here, why she was doing this. It couldn't be for Potter and Weasley. They just weren't worth her trouble. Then why?

He slipped into her mind, past the almost nonexistent barrier that she had thrown up. It couldn't hurt. She probably wouldn't remember the violation in the haze of the past few days. _She wouldn't even notice he was there_, he reasoned. _So why not_. Potter was there, ah yes, there was Mr. Weasley. There was something deeper, stronger holding those images in her mind. Ah yes, the eternal Gryffindor, there was hope. Then there was something darker that he wasn't quite expecting. She had hate, deep seeded hate embedded into her soul. The virgin queen of Gryffindors had found that place inside of her to develop hate. Merlin if that wasn't a surprise. He couldn't imagine her hating anyone, unless, of course, they hurt a book. She was surprising, just enough to keep all of them guessing. These were the ones that He always enjoyed, the ones he would beak himself. Snape guessed that, perhaps, Potter wasn't Voldemort's match. Perhaps, things would come down to a battle of intellect, and then maybe, they would have a chance. So hate away Miss Granger, keep that going. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of breaking, not while she still had breath enough to fight.

His mouth twitched, that was it, what he was looking for. _Keep that Miss Granger, keep that. Fight the bastard…_

"It's a little crowded in here Severus," his Master's voice cut into his concentration.

"Apologies my Lord, I was merely curious," he withdrew.

"Is that all?" Severus could feel the cold fingers probing his mind and hid everything that would get him killed. Instead he focused on the images of Potter and Weasley that he had stolen from her thoughts. "Ah of course, thinking your friends would save you. Stupid girl, they can no more save you than find you. I thought you were supposed to be brilliant." He ended the curse, letting her breathe long enough to reconsider telling him everything.

Then, she did something none of them ever expected. She threw back her head and laughed. Voldemort jerked in surprise, no one had dared to laugh in his presence since his school days. "Stop that you insipid girl. Stop that infernal noise!"

"Is that what you think this is all about? My friends? You poor stupid fuck, you just don't get it, do you? It was never about them!" She kept laughing, rocking herself back and forth on the cold stone.

_This was it_, he thought, _this was Hermione Granger, cracked. _

"_Sectumsempra_!" He winced involuntarily as the spell sliced across her chest, feeling the slow build of anger start to burn in his chest. This wasn't right, there was no honour in this. But, then, Voldemort had never known about honour.

"You insignificant girl, they're dead," the Dark Lord hissed, "All your precious friends, fighting for a doddering old man. They're dead. Every last one, dead."

"I don't believe you," she stopped rocking, angry eyes boring holes into his face.

"No?" a hint of a smile appeared, "Then by all means, let me show you?"

Gods, this couldn't be good. Not when He was smiling like that and that slightly panicked look had come on her face. Then she was screaming, clutching her head so hard her fingers turned white. Her body's protest to the violent images was clear, the inevitably broken look sinking into each of her limbs. There was a sudden silence, with her still holding her head, and Him smiling like the bastard he was.

He watched the remaining colour drain from her face, something not entirely there in her eyes. He'd seen it before, many more times than he could actually admit out loud. It was that last desperate look before the untimely end, when absolutely nothing was left.

"I'll kill you." Hermione launched herself the few short feet towards her tormentor, arms outstretched. Voldemort was unprepared as the impact took him over backwards.

"Get her off of me!" the long white hands scrabbled to find a grip on the witch who was threatening to throttle the life out of him. Her battered, bruised fingers wrapped around his throat, trying desperately to squeeze the life from him before they pulled her away.

"You bastard," Hermione slammed his head against the floor, "You fucking bastard!" The Death Eaters watched in horrified silence as she tightened her fingers, "Worthless? Insignificant? Is that what I am to you? Filth? You want filth?" Hermione leaned close to his face, feeling his hot, acidic breath sting her face, "You are filth." With that last revelation, Hermione smeared her blood across his face. "You're just like me, filthy."

Lucius reached her in time to drag her off his Master by her hair. Voldemort heaved himself to his feet, taking a moment to touch his throat. Snape counted the finger marks along his neck, relishing every coming bruise. _Let him remember_.

"You disgust me," he descended the few steps to his victim. "We are nothing alike, you are beneath me."

"Not a minute ago I wasn't," her broken funny smile mocked him.

That proved a bit too much for the other man to bear, his voice hitting a shrieking octave, "_Crucio_! _Crucio_! _CRUCIO_!"

Voldemort kept screaming the curse at her, pushing her to break. "You are beneath me," he panted, narrow chest heaving. He lashed out with one hand, catching her across the cheek and sending her spinning. Malfoy let her go in time for her to fall to the floor, her head hitting with a sickening thud.

Snape kept willing her to get up, to curse him, to do something. But nothing, no movement. The crumpled mass on the floor stayed, refusing to answer his wishes. Voldemort looked at him strangely, as if to question the heavy feeling that had just settled in his chest.

"And now to end you pitiful existence," Voldemort drew his wand, "_Avada Ked…_"

And then the world exploded into white.


	2. Chapter 2

When he came to, Potter and Voldemort were locked in some epic battle that no one wanted to interrupt. A blood red shield pulsed around them, little black veins pulsing every time one of them scored a hit. Both were starting to show signs of wear, Potter especially looked drawn and weak. There were precious few left. Most seemed to be trying to make sense of all the dead and wounded. God, he never expected there to be so many gone.

He pushed himself up to his knees, turning to see the face of the late Lucius Malfoy. He died the same way he lived, eyes open, but not quite seeing. There was Nott, insufferable bastard. He recognized members of the Order scattered amongst the dead. His eyes rested on the small bundle still in the centre of the floor. God please let her be alive. Please don't let him have failed again. He was supposed to protect her, let her still breathe. He crawled across the stone, ignoring the calls of the wounded around him.

A pair of boots appeared in his vision, shiny and black. "You disgust me. To think I used to look up to you." The slow deliberate drawl of Draco Malfoy fell on his ears.

Snape pushed himself to his feet, "There were better role models Draco. Perhaps you would have done well under someone else's tutelage."

"But her?" the young man's voice rose and cracked. "That's the first thing you think of? She's filth, nothing! Help us turn the tides!"

"I made a promise," he stared down his long nose at the boy in front of him. He used to have such hopes for this boy, the dreams that he could turn out differently. The mussed blonde hair and black smeared face reminded him that he had failed at yet another endeavour. Draco Malfoy was exactly like his father.

"So what? For Merlin's sake, come back for her later, she'll still be here," Draco choked off, pointing his wand at the body of Hermione Granger.

"I'm so sorry I failed you child." Snape drew his own wand, "God I failed you all." He'd failed all his Slytherins. He'd raised them, formed them, shaped them into the backstabbing murders they'd become. He had created this new generation of Death Eaters himself. There were moments when he was proud of them, eager to show off what he had done. One trait reminiscent of his school days-the insufferable know it all, eager to brag about his latest triumph. Now, all he felt was guilt, endless waves of guilt for not warning them of the ending to their young lives.

"You _failed_ us?" the younger man's tone was incredulous, "How on earth could you have failed us now? You are everything…"

Snape watched the horrified realization cross Draco's face. He was surprised the young man never figured it out before. He could have been so much more that a casualty on the battlefield. "I am so sorry Draco," he raised his wand, "_Avada Kedavra_."

Draco dropped like a stone, eyes still wide with disbelief. He could not have killed him, it was entirely true. A good stunning charm would have knocked young Malfoy out for the rest of the battle. But he wasn't going to subject anyone to a life in Azkaban, even Lucius Malfoy's son. There were some things worse than death. It was his redemption, if he could save one confused soul from a Dementor's kiss.

He made his way over to her body, he hope that it wasn't a body yet. But Ron Weasley beat him to her.

"'Mione?" his voice was hoarse and grating. "Hermione?" He cradled her limp form, "Please wake up."

The next bang knocked him back on his ass, the head cracking against the stone. He stared at the old wooden ceiling, willing the stars to clear from his vision so he could do something, anything to help. He couldn't fail yet. He turned his head slightly, looking over to where Potter and the Dark Lord had been fighting. Potter stood tall amongst the wreckage, Merlin he looked like his father. The smoke curled around him as he stared, amazed at the remains around him. It was over, good emerged triumphant.

The muscles in his face burned and he reached up to touch them in surprise. Only then discovering that he was smiling for the first time in years. It was over, finally finished. Entirely over. No more lying, no more pain, no more waking up every day with a sudden lurch. Finally, peace. He rolled over onto his stomach, meeting Weasley's eyes.

"We have to get her to St. Mungo's," Ron stood up slowly.

"Then go," he pushed himself to his feet, "I'm not stopping you."

"You never could," Ron Disparated with a small pop.

Harry walked over to his old professor, "Well Snape, looks like we're the last men standing."

"So it would seem Mr. Potter."

"How was she?" the young man asked quietly.

"She was perfect, as always. Gave a remarkably good attempt at strangling Him before Lucius pulled her away."

"That's our Hermione," Harry's voice sounded hollow. "Is she going to be all right?"

"I don't know." He didn't like to mince words, "They weren't exactly showering her with roses and poetry."

"She'll be all right," Harry's voice was determined, "She has to be."

At the Aurors' insistence, he had allowed himself to be carted off to St. Mungo's for a check up. He knew nothing was wrong, other than the odd bump and bruise, but he was more interested in finding Miss Granger. He Apparated in front of the gates and walked through the crowded hallways to the Intensive Unit.

Potter and the Weasley clan were already sitting in the waiting area, all of them looking worse for the wear. The youngest male Weasley glared at him accusingly, "You were supposed to protect her."

"She's still alive, isn't she?" he pointed out.

"Barely," Ron snarled. His older brothers held his arm so he couldn't get up, "Probably no thanks to you."

"I'm fairly certain that the Order didn't add any stipulations about how she was to be returned, Mr. Weasley," he sneered.

The uproar that followed was more than he expected. Both twins were hanging onto their younger brother, holding him in his chair. Ginny hung onto Harry, digging her heels into the carpet. Her voice cut above the rest of the din, "Get out! You don't belong here."

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," a harried looking Medi-Witch came around the corner, "If you could just come this way. We're trying our best, really, but she simply won't…if you could just…"

"We're coming." With a final glare at their old potions professor, the two friends stalked out of the waiting area.

"Master Snape?" the Medi-Witch offered tentatively.

"Yes," his voice sounded surly, even to his own ears.

"Master Dumbledore said that you should come back for a quick check up. You can come along now, if you'd like."

"That would be most agreeable. The less time spent here, the better," he sneered at the rest of the company before sweeping after the Medi-Witch.

He was just finishing fixing his buttons when he heard screaming in the corridor.

"…dead! You're dead!" Hermione was crouched in the corner of the corridor, hands over her ears. "Get out of my head!"

"Hermione we aren't dead," Ron pleaded with her, trying to pull her hands off her ears.

She ignored them, continuing to crouch in the corner, rocking back and forth. "Get out, get out."

In a few quick steps, he was down the hall and back where he belonged. "Get out of the way," Snape roughly shouldered them aside and knelt in front of her. "Miss Granger, pull yourself together!" he snapped. There was still blood batting her hair to her forehead and the bruise on her cheek was starting to turn a violent purple.

She froze, eyes slowly moving up to meet his. "Sir? You aren't dead…" her forehead furrowed in confusion.

"Precisely Miss Granger. And I can assume that you came to that conclusion logically?"

"Yes sir," she smiled slightly, "If you died, you wouldn't get to deduct any more points from Gryffindor."

His lips quirked up at her reply, "Quite true. And you know that I never lie to my students?"

"Of course sir, you never lie." Her fathomless cinnamon eyes looked at him trustingly. He swallowed hard, Merlin why did she have to look at him like that. No one ever looked at him like that. Disdain, disgust, those were the looks he was used to seeing. But no one _ever_ looked at him like that.

"Then you must believe me when I tell you that Misters Potter and Weasley aren't dead at all, that was merely Voldemort's idea of fun. Everything is over now, Mister Potter remains standing," he tucked a stray curl behind her hair, his hand lingering a moment too long.

"D'you promise sir?"

"I promise Miss Granger. Now let them patch you up."

She pushed herself to her feet, still gazing up at him. "Thank you sir."

With one last curt nod, he swept down the hall. Away from those innocent, too trusting eyes.


End file.
